


Jammy Dodgers

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Childhood, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, M/M, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 21:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis isn't thrilled with the idea of his sister and nephew moving in for a few months and upsetting his routines. But sometimes when things have laid untouched too long, they need to be stirred up before they can heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jammy Dodgers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shachaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shachaai/gifts).



> Written for my darling Shacha's birthday. She wanted something with France and Fem!France taking care of Child!England, and somehow this is what developed. Happy birthday my dear, I hope you enjoy.

When Arthur is six years old, he and his mum move from London, where they've always lived, to the countryside of France.

They move from their little house on the crowded street where the air is too smokey and the garden too small to a much bigger house at the edge of a village with wildflowers in abundance. Arthur gets _two_ entire rooms, one for sleeping and one for playing, and he's really quite pleased. There are only two problems with their new house. 

One is that it's in _France_ , and the other is that he and mummy are sharing it with his Uncle Francis. 

(It's actually his uncle's house to begin with.) 

The day they move in is bright and shining, and Arthur quickly grows tired of carrying boxes up and down stairs. It's hot, and too sunny, and the renovated farmhouse doesn't have air conditioning, a fact which Arthur is very much beginning to resent. He abandons his efforts at helping the adults and escapes to the back garden, where sometime later his uncle finds him sprawled out in the shade under a big birch tree. Francis chuckles, crouching down beside him. 

"Are you going to help your mama arrange your room, Arthur?" 

Arthur rolls over to glare at his uncle as potently as a six-year-old can. "I can do it myself!" 

Francis blinks, a bit startled at the venom. "...Not if you're out here." 

Arthur huffs, climbing to his feet and making his way back inside, leaving Francis to trail after him. 

In the house, Arthur's mum and Francis' weird Spanish friend who came to help them move in are in the kitchen, getting cold drinks and talking in low tones. Arthur makes a beeline for the door, seeking his mum, and walks in just in time to hear Antonio say "-Arthur's father?" 

Arthur frowns, and promptly marches over to kick Antonio in the ankle. His feet are bare, so it hardly hurts, but Antonio yelps in surprise and takes a step back, looking down at Arthur with wide eyes. Before he can think of what to say, Arthur pipes up. "My dad will come visit when he wants to. He's busy saving the universe." 

Antonio blinks, clearly not sure what to make of all this, and exchanges heavy adult looks with Francis and Marianne over Arthur's head. Arthur _hates_ it when adults look at each other like that, like there's secrets that he's not allowed to know, and he kicks Antonio again in a sudden fit of temper. 

Marianne inhales sharply, shaking out of whatever she'd been thinking about before Arthur walked in, and reaches down to take hold of her son's arm. "Arthur," her voice is firm enough that Arthur immediately peeks up at her through his bangs, looking guilty. "You know it isn't nice to kick people. I want you to apologize to Antonio." 

Arthur scowls down at the Spaniard's toes, scuffing his own feet across the warm tile of the kitchen floor. "....Sorry." 

"Thank you," Marianne gentles her tone now that he's apologized, and ruffles up his already messy hair. "Let's go unpack your DVDs, shall we?" 

Arthur brightens immediately, pulling away from his mother to run ahead and find the box where his prized possessions are. Marianne straightens up with a sigh, starting to follow him, but questioning looks from both Francis and Antonio give her pause. She smiles weakly and shrugs, spreading her hands in a helpless gesture. "Doctor Who." 

~*~

The last time Arthur saw his dad, it was a Sunday. 

He knows this, because it was the day after a new episode of Doctor Who, and he remembers how happy he was to have confirmation that his dad was okay. (Mum says his dad isn't the Doctor, that he's just at work all the time. Arthur knows the truth, though, that 'work' means the TARDIS. All of Arthur's school mates have dads that work too, but none of them are gone all the time or overnight like Arthur's.) He's wearing a suit, just like always, sensible brown with a shirt that's a little wrinkled and a tie tugged down for comfort, hair starting to fall into his eyes. He seems tired, but Arthur thinks that fighting aliens and saving Earth must be really hard, so he's allowed to be tired. He's never too tired to scoop Arthur up and hug him, ruffle his hair and smile at him, so it's okay. 

And this time, he brought Arthur a present. A sonic screwdriver of his very own. 

"It's only a toy," his dad insists, brow furrowing a little as Arthur squeals and hugs him around the neck. "It won't do any of the things you see on the television, so please don't try." 

Arthur nods and wiggles to be let down, ready to run off to his room and set up his toy Daleks for an epic fight to the death (or bedtime, whichever comes first). His dad crouches to let him down, and so Arthur completely misses the disapproving look from his mum, the way her arms are crossed and her stance is defensive. He's so busy playing with the buttons on his new screwdriver that he doesn't hear mum's hissed " _Ludwig_ , this isn't _helping_ -", and in his room with the door closed he's totally unaware of the very quiet, very civil argument going on in the living room. 

Arthur's dad leaves again on Wednesday, and on Thursday mum tells him that they're going to move to France. 

~*~

Uncle Francis is a painter. 

Arthur's mum says that means he makes beautiful pictures, and then other people buy them so they can hang them in their house. Arthur thinks this is silly, because none of Uncle Francis' pictures are very pretty. The picture in their living room of the Eiffel Tower and Paris skyline was made by Uncle Francis. Arthur has always hated that picture. 

It must be some kind of magic, Arthur decides, because every morning after breakfast, Uncle Francis goes into his painting room, closes the door, and doesn't come out. Sometimes he even forgets to have lunch, and doesn't reappear until Marianne bangs on his door, rolling her eyes in exasperation and threatening to bring him scones to snack on. (Arthur doesn't know why that always gets Francis to come out immediately; he thinks scones are delicious.) He doesn't ever leave the house for work like Arthur's friends' parents do, but maybe work is only for adults who have children. 

Arthur has only been in the painting room once. He was playing on the stairs, carefully staging his Daleks to invade the upstairs landing, listening with half an ear to Marianne on the phone in the kitchen, speaking in hushed and harried French. He heard the door to the painting room open, and leaned back to watch Francis pad into the kitchen, probably seeking a cool drink on the hot day. He'd left the door open, and too curious to help himself, Arthur abandoned his invasion plans and scurried down the hall to look. 

The painting room isn't at all what Arthur expected. Well, he hadn't really _known_ what he expected, but this isn't it. The painting room is _messy_. Blank and painted canvases in all sizes are stacked along the walls, ranging from ones small enough that Arthur could pick up to ones that are so large Francis himself probably needs a step-stool to paint them. There are shelves too, holding brushes and tubes of pant and jars and other things. One wall is almost all windows, letting in bright streams of light to bounce off the tile floors and nourish the few houseplants sitting around. The middle of the room is taken up by a table which currently holds a vase and bouquet of flowers, and the easel where the half-finished painting of those flowers is. There's paint on the floor and dust on the windows and Arthur wrinkles his nose, puzzled because the rest of the house is so clean. 

"Arthur!" 

Arthur spins around at the sharp words from his uncle, eyes a little wide. Francis looks annoyed, lips pressed together and hands on his hips, just like mum when she's mad. "You know you're not allowed in here. Out." 

Marianne pads up behind Francis, looking faintly annoyed herself. "You're the one who left the door open, Francis. And besides, you can't shut yourself away in your studio all the time if you're going to be watching him." 

" _What_?" Arthur and Francis react at almost the same time, both of them staring at Marianne incredulously. She scowls at them both and crosses her arms. 

" _I_ am going to be starting my new job next week, so I'll be gone most of the day. And I would _appreciate_ it if my big brother kept my son from hurting himself while I'm gone." 

Francis flinches slightly and looks sheepish. "Sorry. Of course I'll watch him." 

Arthur is not nearly so agreeable. "But I don't wanna stay with Uncle Francis! Can't I come with you, mum?" 

"I'm sorry sweetie. Aren't you just glad there's no school right now?" 

Arthur is, but not if it means being stuck with Uncle Francis all day, every day. 

Arthur likes it when Antonio comes over. 

Antonio is a lot more fun than Uncle Francis, and he comes over at least two or three times a week. Sometimes he'll take Arthur out on walks or to the swimming pool so that Francis can have an hour or two to paint in peace. Even when they're at home, Antonio is happy to get down on the floor with Arthur and play with his race cars or his Daleks, something that Francis usually won't do. 

Arthur notices after awhile that Francis is more likely to agree if Antonio is the one who asks, though. That might just be because Antonio whines and pleads instead of Arthur's screaming tantrums, though. 

"How come you like playing with me more than Uncle Francis does?" Arthur asks him once when they're both laying on their stomachs on the living room carpet, putting together a puzzle. 

Antonio laughs warmly, reaching over to rustle Arthur's hair. "Ah, I have two cousins who are only a little bit older than you. I like playing with them when I go to visit, so I suppose I'm more used to it than Francis is." 

"Maybe," Arthur wrinkles his nose, trying to find another edge piece. "I don't think Uncle Francis can have fun." 

"Sure he can," Antonio's grin turns a little sappy, and Arthur wonders what he's thinking about. "Your Uncle Francis and I went to school together, you know. We used to have lots of fun, it's just a different kind of fun than this." 

Arthur blinks, tilting his head. "Used to?" 

"Ah..." Antonio's smile turns sad to Arthur's eyes. "We still do. Just not as much." 

"Oh." Arthur studies him seriously for a moment, then sits up. "Do you live by yourself?" 

"Si, in an apartment across town. Would you hand me that piece please?" 

"Sure. If you and Francis are good friends, and you live alone and he has this big house-" he stops, because even at six he knows what pain looks like, and he reaches out to touch Antonio's cheek softly. Antonio rubs a hand over his eyes, shadows gone as quickly as they came, and then he grabs Arthur and rolls over to tickle him until he forgets all about that line of conversation. 

~*~

Arthur's stomach reminds him that it's past lunch time, and the silence of the house reminds him that his mum is at work and not here to fix lunch for him. He's not allowed to try and make things by himself, so with a sigh he gets up to go find Uncle Francis. The first place he goes to check is the painting room, and of course Francis is there. The door is open this time, probably so Francis can hear Arthur if he makes too much noise, and so Arthur doesn't hesitate to peer in. Francis has his back to the door as he paints, but instead of fruit bowls or buildings or birds, this time Francis is painting a person, a photograph tucked up into the corner of his easel to use for reference. 

Arthur forgets that he's hungry, and stands there for a long time, quiet because he wants Francis to keep painting the pretty lady. He knows that if he's too loud, Francis will stop, or make him leave, and either way he won't get to see. It really _must_ be a kind of magic, because even though he's watching the whole time, Arthur can't tell how Francis mixes the colours to make the lady in the photograph appear on his canvas, stroke by careful stroke. She's blond and bright and beautiful, pink lips curled up in vibrant laughter, blue eyes sparkling with it, white pearls in her hair and around her neck making her look like a movie star. Arthur doesn't know how long he stands in the doorway watching, but when Francis drops his brush into a jar of water and stretches his arms over his head with a sigh, he can't contain his curiosity anymore. 

"Who is she?" Even then his voice comes out hushed, eyes wide as he finally dares take a step into the painting room. Francis turns on his stool to look at him, but doesn't immediately shout for Arthur to leave him alone. Instead he looks bemused, reaching up to pluck the photo off its clip and beckoning Arthur forward so he can take a closer look. 

"This is your mama, back before you were born." 

Arthur frowns, peering at the picture and thinking of his mum's shorter hair and tired eyes. He's never seen her wear pearls. "...Are you sure?" 

Francis chuckles softly, ruffling Arthur's hair and ignoring the way the boy bristles and bats at his hands. "Of course I'm sure. I've known Marianne far longer than you have." 

"Okay..." Arthur still gives him a suspicious look, like he thinks Francis might be lying to tease him. "Why are you painting her, anyway?" 

"Oh, I don't know..." Francis looks away from Arthur, out the window. Arthur stands on his toes, but can't tell what he's looking at, and after a moment gives up. "Perhaps just because I love her." 

Arthur looks at the painting of his mum again, mulling over that. He loves his mum more than anything else, ever. Even more than Doctor Who and his dad. If Francis loves her that much too, maybe it's alright. "...Can I have it?" 

Francis blinks and turns back to him, startled out of his thoughts. (That picture had been taken on Marianne and Ludwig's wedding day; the moment before it had been taken, Gilbert, _darling_ Gilbert, had snatched the garter away from a madly blushing Ludwig and sling-shot it at Francis. There are many pictures from many angles of that fiasco, but the one of Marianne laughing is Francis' favourite, not in the least because she looks so very happy and because any pictures of Gilbert still set off a fresh, gnawing ache low in Francis' gut.) "What?" 

Arthur points solemnly at the painting. "When it's done, can I have it?" 

Francis smiles. He's been a bit low on inspiration lately, and he'd decided to paint Marianne on a whim. He hadn't known what he was going to do with the painting, so this is as good as anything. "Alright. We'll find a place to hang it up in your bedroom." 

Arthur beams. (For the first time, he thinks his uncle's painting is good.) 

~*~

One day, Arthur sees Francis kiss Antonio. 

Or actually, it's the other way around, Antonio curling long fingers in Francis' hair and gently drawing him closer, murmuring to him in words too soft for Arthur to hear in the moment before their lips meet. They're standing in the kitchen, summer sun making the air around them glow with warmth, but Francis is shivering as though he's very cold. 

Arthur's never seen two boys kiss before. He thinks maybe that's why Francis looks so scared and sad. 

~*~

After nearly three months of living in France, just as the summer heat is beginning to consider cooling down, Marianne has to make a trip back to London for a few days. 

"I need to make sure I have all your school records and doctor records so you can start school here in France, sweetie," she tells Arthur, making him pout and whine about not wanting to have to take classes in _French_. 

"Ludwig wants to talk," she tells Francis with a sigh once Arthur has left the room. "He thinks maybe we can still work things out." 

"Can you?" Francis asks. 

Marianne purses her lips pessimistically and shrugs, but Francis knows his little sister well and can see the hope in her eyes. "We'll see." 

Later that night, once Marianne has left in a cab for the airport, Arthur is having trouble settling down. Francis had expected a certain amount of difficulty this first night without his mother, and wonders if it's too late to call Antonio. Thinking of the Spaniard makes his heart flutter oddly though, especially this close to the anniversary, so he squishes that thought down and concentrates on soothing Arthur himself. 

"Tell me a story," Arthur demands once he's been fed, bathed and settled into bed. Francis sighs and sits down on the edge of his bed, glancing up at the painting of Marianne as though that will give him strength. 

"I'm afraid I don't know any good stories, Arthur." 

The boy wrinkles his nose, as though not knowing good stories is a severe character flaw. "Everyone knows stories. Make one up." 

Francis shakes his head, baffled. "I'm sorry, I'm a painter, not a storyteller." 

Arthur rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and puffing out his cheeks. "Fine, then I'll tell one. This is the story of how my dad defeated an evil alien, and I know it's true because I've seen pictures." 

"Oh really?" Francis tries not to be amused at the idea of Ludwig Beilschmidt defeating anything more formidable than a mountain of paperwork or perhaps a pint of Belgian beer. "What sort of evil alien?" 

"I'll get there, stop asking and let me tell it!" Arthur looks so _adorable_ when he's annoyed, and Francis has to hide a smile behind his hand as he nods and gestures for Arthur to go on. "...Okay. Once upon a time, my dad and my mum knew each other, but they weren't in love yet. My dad's the Doctor, so he travels all over space and time defeating the Daleks and the Cybermen and anyone who wants to hurt Earth. My mum went with him sometimes. One day, she met an alien that looks just like us, except he had no colour and red eyes. The red eyes are how I know he was evil." 

Suddenly Francis isn't laughing anymore, because he's realized the story Arthur doesn't know he's telling. His stomach cramps up, sharp remembered pain shooting up his spine, but he feels frozen and can't make his mouth work to tell Arthur to stop, _please_ \- 

"At first he wasn't doing anything _really_ evil, and so he became friends with my mum and dad. Mum and dad fell in love and got married, and then I was born. But I'm special because I'm half Time Lord, and the evil alien wanted me for his own, so he tried to kidnap me. There was a really big battle with lots of lasers and stuff and probably some Daleks, but in the end my dad won and got me back. The evil alien went back to his planet and was never seen again, and we all lived happily ever after!" Arthur looks up, triumphant, and then falters, scrambling out from under the blankets to put his arms around his uncle. "Uncle Francis, why are you crying?" 

_Once upon a time, Francis fell in love._

 _At university, he shared a dorm with a loud, German albino named Gilbert and a laid back Spaniard named Antonio. All three of them became fast friends, but it was Gilbert and Francis that seemed to orbit each other like binary stars, drawn ever closer together while Antonio watched them both with a lazy, cat-like smile._

_Through their relationship, Francis' younger sister met Gilbert's younger brother and they hit it off as well._

_Arthur sees the story as laid out in Marianne's carefully constructed photo album; Francis had longer hair and no beard then, and to six-year-old eyes the sister and brother could easily have been mistaken for one another. The last photo of Gilbert that Marianne has was taken on Arthur's first birthday. Arthur never liked his white hair, and would scream whenever Gilbert picked him up. Gilbert's smile in the picture is sheepish as he tries to hold onto the squalling baby, Ludwig hovering just outside of frame ready to take him back._

_"I want to ask Francis to marry me," Gilbert had confided to his brother during a lull in the party. "We've been together almost five years, and considering you and Marianne have a **kid** now, it's getting kind of ridiculous. We're going on a road trip to meet Antonio in Madrid next month, I think I'm going to ask him then." _

_Ludwig's never been able to bring himself to tell Francis about Gilbert's plans, because they never made it to Madrid. He threw himself into his work to try and hide from the hole his brother's death left in his heart, and he's been hiding ever since._

Francis manages to get himself under control, and with a little more effort gets Arthur calmed down and into bed again, making excuses for the tears that had been rolling down his cheeks. A few lullabies coax Arthur to sleep at last, and once Francis is sure he'll stay asleep, he slips out of the bedroom to go downstairs. 

For awhile he absently paces around the house, tidying the kitchen and listening for any sounds of Arthur stirring. But the house stays stubbornly silent. Francis considers calling Antonio, and then decides against it, and finally finds himself in his studio looking out the window at the darkened garden. 

It's weird how he can't seem to decide what he's feeling. If Gilbert were still alive, the idea that he's an alien because of his albinism would be hilarious. But the fact that he's not, that Francis will never be able to relay Arthur's story to him and watch him laugh so hard he wheezes, makes the humour and the grief knot up his stomach in ways that make Francis feel ill. He decides he needs something to distract him, because he knows if he tries to go to bed now he'll just dream about the crash and Gil's blood on his hands and he really doesn't need that tonight. 

So he drifts into the living room and the first things he sees are the neat stacks of Arthur's Doctor Who DVDs. With a shrug, he puts the first one on and settles down on the couch, wrapping one of Antonio's knitted blankets around his shoulders and pulling his feet up under himself to tuck in his toes. 

Soon after, he's so engrossed that he hardly notices Arthur crawling up beside him. He just shifts, holding up the edge of the blanket so Arthur can settle against his side and lean his head sleepily against Francis' shoulder. It's not long before he's asleep again, but to his surprise Francis finds that he doesn't mind. Having Arthur's warm weight against his ribs is somehow soothing, easing the ache of loneliness and grief. Francis leans down just enough to press a kiss against the crown of his nephew's head, and then settles down to sleep. 

He dreams about Gilbert, but not about the crash. He dreams that Gilbert is walking among the stars, aloof but always there. 

~*~

When Marianne returns, Francis is surprised to see that Ludwig is with her, dressed in black jeans and a polo shirt instead of a full suit and tie. This is the most relaxed Francis has seen him in _years_ (since Gilbert's funeral), and Marianne's smile is still tired but more honest as she asks where Arthur is. She needn't have bothered asking though, the footsteps pounding down the stairs are far louder than a six-year-old should be capable of as Arthur streaks through the front hall and throws his full weight against his father's knees. Francis watches the way Ludwig's expression eases into a smile as he scoops Arthur up, and feels his heart lift a little. He catches Marianne's eye, and her smile widens before she turns her attention to Arthur as well. 

Francis steps back to let them have a little private time, feeling more hopeful than he has in months. Though he can't help but feel a little twinge of disappointment when he realizes that Marianne and Arthur will probably be moving back out soon. He's gotten used to having people in the house, it'll be weird to go back to the quiet. 

He retreats to his studio, and sometime later that's where Ludwig finds him. Francis finishes up the section he's painting, then drops his brush into the water jar and turns to face his brother-in-law. Ludwig is regarding his half-finished painting quietly, as though he's not entirely sure what it's going to be, and Francis manages a slight smile. "Your son seems to have gotten me interested in Doctor Who. And he's convinced Gilbert is an alien, by the way." The name only sticks in his throat a little, and Ludwig gives him an understanding look before returning his gaze to the painting, where Gilbert sits perched in the doorway of the TARDIS in the center of a vast star field, his chin in his hands and his smile sublime. 

Ludwig reaches out to put a hand on Francis' shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze, his expression both earnest and awkward, and Francis is reminded of the time Ludwig asked him for permission to date Marianne, as though she wouldn't be perfectly capable of handling herself. "Francis, I... I should have told you this long ago, but Gilbert wanted to ask you to marry him. He was going to, on the trip to Madrid." 

Francis swallows hard, looking back at the painting of his best friend and first love, tracing Gilbert's smile with his eyes. It hurts, to hear that and think about what might have been, but it doesn't stab the way Francis had expected it to, and he realizes his eyes have drifted from the painting to the photo he was using for reference. A photo of Gilbert and Antonio, from their university days, both of them half-drunk and leaning against each other with idiotic smiles on their faces, both of them seeming to look out of the past and right at Francis. 

He feels warm, and realizes he's smiling and blinking back tears at the same time, and that Ludwig looks like he might explode from awkwardness. "Thank you," he manages, reaching up to cover Ludwig's hand with his own. "Thank you for telling me." 

"Will you be alright, once Marianne and Arthur leave?" Ludwig asks, and Francis smile widens. 

"Yes, I think so." He turns around fully to pin Ludwig under a stare. "I've been too easy on you, though. If I hear you've been working too hard and ignoring your family again, I'll come to London and give you an ass-kicking even Gil would be proud of." 

Ludwig turns red, embarrassment and (Francis is pleased to see) shame at his actions over the past few years. He nods. "You would have every right." He steps back, ready to go help his wife and son pack their things, and Francis waves him off, pulling out his cell phone. Ludwig pauses, hovering in the doorway just long enough to hear, 

"Ah, Antonio? Yes, they've patched things up, they'll be going back to London next week. I've gotten used to the noise, so I was wondering if you wanted to move in..." 

Ludwig smiles, and moves away from the studio door to go find Marianne.

**Author's Note:**

> PSA: 'Arthur Bonnefoy' and 'Arthur Beilschmidt' are both ridiculously silly-sounding names. =w=
> 
> I made Francis' painting, though my art is less than amazing. It can [be found here](http://archangelunmei.tumblr.com/post/50505733109/ludwig-is-regarding-his-half-finished-painting).


End file.
